


Meme Ficlet: Boring

by greywash



Series: Meme Ficlets (Spring 2012... and onward) [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywash/pseuds/greywash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Meme ficlet, archived off Tumblr; unbeta'ed and un-Britpicked.</em>
</p><p><strong>sothisstar requested</strong>: Under what circumstances would one ever sub for four?</p><p>
  <strong>1. Moriarty</strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>4. Irene</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meme Ficlet: Boring

"Are we having fun yet?" he asks, smile wide. He rubs his chin against the outer edge of the sole of her boot.

"Oh, no, love," Irene says, mouth quirked. "If you want to do this for fun, it won't be for free."

"Ah," he says. "Money, is it? How boring." He frowns up at her and shakes his head.

"Yes, very," she agrees. "But sadly necessary, I'm afraid, in our capitalistic modern society, et cetera. Now. I don't believe for an instant that you broke in here without knowing who I am, and if you know who I am, you know what I do. I don't like the police but I'll call them if I have to; it's Friday night and I'm not particularly interested in giving you a freebie in my off hours. So. Will you leave, or would you rather get this treatment from the Met?"

"The police aren't half so sweet as you," he purrs up at her, squirming under her boot. She doesn't push down; she knows his type. He'd probably consider that as good as a date.

"If you want an appointment, you could call my assistant, you know," she says.

He laughs. "What, and pay the going rate? Oh, no, Miss Adler. I so very rarely handle cash, you see." He wraps one hand around her ankle, rubbing the bone through the leather.

"Hands off," she tells him. He takes his hands off and smiles up at her. She narrows her eyes. "So," she says. "What is it then? If you don't handle cash."

"A business opportunity," he says.

"I'm not a whore," she reminds him, "You need to work on your creative thinking, Mr. Money-how-boring-I'm-certain-if-I-break-into-her-sitting-room-we'll-have-a-simply- _lovely_ -evening," and he laughs, a very little.

"Not that sort of business opportunity," he says. "This sort of business opportunity isn't boring at all."

She watches him, considering. He's wearing an expensive suit and looks perfectly serene, lying on his back on her carpet, surrounded by broken glass, with her foot on his windpipe. His ear is bleeding, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"All right," she says. "Go on."

"You first, duckling," he says, and she pushes her foot down, about a millimeter less than would do permanent damage. He squirms.

"I'm sorry," she says. "You seem to be confused about who's calling the shots. Now. Shall we try this again?"


End file.
